


‘til you’re home again (The Phone Sex Remix)

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Canon Universe, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Implied Bottom Keith, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Phone Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 07, Season 8 Doesn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: His fingers itch to touch, to skate over Keith’s skin, to wind around his narrow waist and pull him close. “Baby. I miss you so much.”“I miss you too,” Keith says, his voice breathless. A pause, and then― “Um. What―what are you wearing?”“Keith,” Shiro says, his mouth curling with amusement even as heat gathers low in the pit of his belly. Suddenly he’s not tired at all anymore. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me?”--In which the Commander of the Blade of Marmora and the Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison find ways to make their long-distance relationship work.





	‘til you’re home again (The Phone Sex Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [miles from where you are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902902) by [akaparalian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian). 



> written for the sheith remix and remixed from akaparalian’s shadowhunters fic “miles from where you are” with a teeny dash of mashup with their sheith fic “everything and more (when i get back someday)”. thanks for letting me remix your piece, akaparalian; it was a lot of fun!!!
> 
> This is set post-canon, and by that I mean post s7 and also post-war, because s8 was a nightmare we all forgot. that being said, Keith is still doing humanitarian missions with the Blades, and Shiro is still Admiral.
> 
> thanks so much as always to the bestest Meg for beta! have you hugged your beta today????
> 
> title is from “You Belong to Me” by Dean Martin.

“I can’t believe tonight’s discussions went on so long. Do Crydorians ever sleep?” Shiro groans as he pauses to let Allura leave the conference room ahead of him. They’re the last to leave, the rest of the meetings attendees long since departed. “And I’ve got a call with the ambassador of Puig to look forward to in the morning.”

Their footfalls echo down the Atlas’ empty halls as they trudge towards their respective quarters, the usual bustling crew drawn away by the late hour. This had been a particularly long day, when dinner had turned into further negotiations which had turned into arguments he had to coax back into negotiations. It’s long past time he should’ve been in bed and it’s only day three of what will no doubt turn into weeks of talks.

Allura’s jewel-bright eyes are too sharp, but they soften when they meet his. “You’re doing too much.”

“Just part of the job,” Shiro says lightly, and Allura eyes him with a little too much scrutiny for his liking. He knows he’s not fooling her, but at least she’s gracious enough to let him pretend he is.

“Get some rest, Shiro,” she says finally, and he nods wearily.

“You too,” he says. “Lance must be waiting for you.”

Allura laughs, her smile turning fond. “He’s probably long gone by now. You know his beauty sleep is important.”

Shiro chuckles, nodding blearily. “Right, right. How could I forget.” He turns to press his palm to the lock beside the door. “Goodnight, Allura.”

The door to Shiro’s quarters shushes closed behind him, his own gusty sigh echoing the sound. He glances at the clock on the wall, flashing 23:08 back at him like an accusation. He’s exhausted, but truth be told, it feels like one of the days his exhaustion works against him: too much on his mind to let go, too much tightness in his body to relax.

His shoulders are stiff, tight with the stress of negotiations and sitting in the Atlas’ conference room chairs day in and day out. His Altean hand finds the back of his neck, kneading at the knots of tension as he works down the line of buttons on the front of his uniform with the other. He slumps down on his narrow bed with a groan, leaning into the press of his own hand into the stiff muscles. He thinks he needs to hit the gym maybe, work out some of the tension in a more productive way than the frustration of negotiating peace treaties all day. If Keith were here, they could spar, or Keith would force him to relax long enough to give him a proper massage. If Keith were here―

But Keith isn’t here, hasn’t been here for weeks now. Shiro sighs, glancing at the time on his datapad. It’s been eight long days since he’s heard from Keith―longer than usual, but not so long that he should worry.

He worries anyway.

As if summoned by his longing, the computer on the wall lights up, a familiar callsign flashing across the screen. Shiro leaps to his feet, punching the button to accept the call with a hand that almost trembles.

“Keith,” Shiro says, his voice sounding like so much relief. He sinks back down to the bed, letting himself unspool just a little. 

“Hey Shiro,” comes the reply, the voice low and warm and familiar in his ear. He knows it like he knows his own, a little raspy but somehow also smooth as it washes over him.

Shiro feels his mouth curl up in an involuntary smile, his fingers tightening on his own knees. “No video today?”

“Sorry,” Keith says regretfully. His voice scratches a little as it comes through the speakers. “This base I’m on doesn’t even have video capability and my ship’s on the other side of the island.”

Shiro chuckles, shifting to get more comfortable until he’s stretched out flat on his back on top of the meager bed. “Low tech, huh?”

Keith huffs a laugh, the sound making Shiro’s stomach turn over with curling delight. “You can say that again.”

“When are you going to be home?”

“Not for another phoeb,” Keith says, regretfully. “I’m sorry, Shiro. There’s lots to be done out here.”

“I know, baby,” Shiro says, forcing reassurance into his voice. He stares up at the ceiling, fights to keep the smile on his face. “You’re doing important work out there with the Blades. I get it.”

Keith huffs a sigh, the gust of his breath making the radio hiss with static. The sound washes over Shiro, tingling over his scalp as Keith’s voice surrounds him. He closes his eyes imagining that Keith is there with him.

“But I miss you,” Keith says, his voice small.

“I miss you too, Keith,” Shiro says, and the smile drops away by degrees. “So, so much.” His flesh hand curls into a fist where it rests idly on his stomach.

“Next time you should come with me,” Keith blurts stubbornly.

Shiro laughs. “Okay. You can tell Holt and Allura that I’m leaving my diplomatic duties to run around the universe with my boyfriend.” He considers, and the smile returns. “Actually, that sounds pretty great.”

Keith chuckles. “Right? And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t look great in a Blade uniform.”

“Mmm. Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice dropping into a huskier register that Shiro recognizes, that has him lighting up with an almost Pavlovian response. “The fabric really stretches. Clings.”

Shiro remembers. How could he forget? The way the reinforced fabric clung to every dip and swell of muscle on Keith’s lean body, the way it flexed as he moved, hid nothing, as if he were wearing nothing at all. The easy grace with which Keith moved in it, the confidence that filled him as he found his place.

A low sound rumbles out of his own chest unbidden and he hears the sputter of the speaker as Keith’s breath catches. “Shiro?”

“Keith,” Shiro replies helplessly, his voice cracking. His fingers itch to touch, to skate over Keith’s skin, to wind around his narrow waist and pull him close. “Baby. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” Keith says, his voice breathless. A pause, and then― “Um. What―what are you wearing?”

Shiro chokes, his eyes flying open. “What?”

Keith makes a discontented sound, one that Shiro knows is hiding his embarrassment. “You know what I’m wearing.” Shiro does. That damned Blade uniform that clings to his torso, the folds broadening his shoulders, the split of the tunic baring those sinful legs in the tight leggings. “I want to know what you’re wearing.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, his mouth curling with amusement even as heat gathers low in the pit of his belly. Suddenly he’s not tired at all anymore. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me?”

“Not very well, apparently,” Keith grumbles.

“On the contrary,” Shiro says pointedly. He drags his metal fingers down the line of his belly, tucking them under the hem of his undershirt. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, letting his voice drop lower. “I wish you were here, baby. Then you could see for yourself.”

He hears Keith swallow. “Tell me, Shiro.”

Shiro grins. “Demanding.” He looks down at himself, watches his Altean hand as it traces up the lines of his abs, brushing the shirt higher and higher. If he lets his mind wander, his tech hand feels disconnected from himself enough that he can imagine it’s Keith, tracing slow lines up his body with gentle fingers. “You caught me in the middle of changing out of my uniform,” he says.

Keith makes a pleased sound. “You still have it on?”

“Maybe,” Shiro says. “My jacket’s unbuttoned but that’s it. Pants are still on, undershirt too.”

“Keep the jacket on,” Keith says, his voice harsh.

“Okay, baby. If that’s what you want.” He grins, reaches his flesh hand to palm at himself through the fabric of his uniform pants. “Might get a bit messy though.”

“I don’t care,” Keith bites. “Want you in it. That’s what drycleaning is for.”

“Yeah? You want to ride me while I’m wearing this, huh? Or maybe you want me to hold you down, teach you some discipline.” Keith whines, and Shiro grins. “Or _maybe_ what you really want is to push me down, show the Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison who he really belongs to.”

The punched out sound that Keith makes at that tells Shiro he’s struck the right nerve. He groans, reaching for his belt buckle. “Oh baby, you know I want that too.” He shoves his pants down around his knees, turning over onto his stomach and reaching for the lube in the bedside drawer. “I miss your cock, baby. Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

“Shiro…”

“Tell me,” Shiro demands, popping the cap on the lube and spreading it over his fingers. “Tell me, or I stop.”

“You asshole,” Keith breathes. “Fine. I want to fuck you.”

Shiro chuckles, the sound coming out breathy as he strokes lubed fingers over his own hole. “Yeah? How are you going to do it? How do you want me?”

“I want you o-on your stomach,” Keith says. “Grinding your thick cock into the mattress while I fuck you from behind.”

“Yeah,” Shiro purrs, slipping the first finger inside himself, rolling his hips into the bed. “Mmm. But first I want to suck your dick. I miss the taste of you. Need my mouth on you, getting you all good and wet and sloppy for me.”

“Shiro,” Keith whines again, and there’s the slick sound of his fist working over his length. Shiro closes his eyes, imagines Keith, flushed and hard and fucking his own fist.

“You sound so good baby, let me hear you.”

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith pants, “I miss your mouth. Miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, baby. Want to put my mouth all over you. Want to suck your cock until you’re almost there, almost ready to come.”

“Please,” Keith says. “Please, please.”

“You beg so beautiful baby,” Shiro says, and he does. Shiro fights to keep himself composed, grinding his erection into the bed beneath him. “But aren’t you supposed to be the one fucking me?”

“I will,” Keith growls, suddenly fierce. His voice sends tingles up Shiro’s spine, makes his cock throb where it’s pressed into the mattress. “I’m going to fuck you so good, Shiro. Make you feel so good. How many fingers are you up to?”

“Two,” Shiro says, as he works the second one in. “Fuck, Keith, you feel good.”

“Tell me, Shiro,” Keith says his voice desperate and wrecked. “Tell me―”

Shiro gasps as he twists his fingers inside himself, works a third finger in alongside the other two a little too soon. Despite his words, his teasing, he’s just as eager and desperate as Keith is, misses him just as much.

“Three now,” Shiro says, and he gasps― _oh, fuck, Keith_ , as he twists them to hit his prostate. “It’s good, it’s so good, but it’s not the same, I want your cock, want your hands on my hips while you fuck me.”

Keith makes a desperate little sound, his panting breaths crackling over the sketchy line, the sound sparking over Shiro’s skin like a touch. He grinds helplessly into the mattress, knows he’s leaking over the sheets, making a mess. But he can’t help it, not when Keith’s breath is in his ear, when he has three slick fingers up his ass.

“When you get back,” Shiro chokes out, his voice partially muffled by the way his cheek is pressed into his own pillow, “I want you to pin me down just like this, remind me who I belong to.”

“Mine,” Keith snarls, “you’re _mine_ , Shiro.”

“Only yours, baby,” Shiro confirms, “Fuck, I’m all yours. And then after you’re done I’ll flip you over and eat you out until you’re crying, until I’m hard again and it’s my turn to stake my claim.”

Keith makes a sound like a sob, the slick sound of his hand speeding up. “Please,” Keith begs, “Shiro― _fuck, Shiro_ ―”

“You sound so good, Keith,” Shiro groans. “Fuck, I’m close. Are you close?”

“Y-yeah,” Keith breaths, the word stuttering out of him. Shiro can imagine it, the Blade suit rucked up around his chest, pushed down below the sweet curve of his ass, clinging to flexing thighs as he rocks into his own grip. His back like a bowstring, driving his hips forward. Sweat trickling down out of his hair where it’s coming out of its braid, tracing the taut lines of his neck, staining the high collar of the suit. His cock flushed almost purple at the tip, leaking, as his grip, grown clawed and fierce in his abandon, twists and works.

The image is enough to send Shiro catapulting to the edge. He groans, loud and harsh, around Keith’s name, his hips grinding punishingly into his sheets as he spills all over them, his fingers pounding into his own ass. Through the thundering of his heart in his ears as he comes, he hears Keith’s choked off growl― _Shiro_ ―the sound so sweet it sends aftershocks ricocheting through him, curling him in on himself as he pants and gasps.

He collapses into his own mess, his muscles going lax as he fights to catch his breath. He hears Keith over the line, the harsh panting of his breath evening out slowly until only a soft huff is left, a small, happy rumble like a purr rattling out of the speaker. The sound washes over Shiro’s skin. He smiles into the pillow, stretches an arm out across the mattress as though to reach for him. 

“Wish you were here,” he says, his voice blurred in the aftermath of his orgasm, his body loose and heavy. “I miss you, baby.”

“Miss you too,” Keith says, voice soft now, like he always is after their lovemaking. “Want―want you to hold me.”

Shiro squirms out of his uniform and away from the dirty sheets, dragging his boxers back up his legs. He gathers his second pillow―the one Keith would be using if he were here with him―to his chest, tucking it under his chin and holding it close. “I want to. You sure you can’t come back any sooner?”

“I’ll do my best,” Keith says, though his voice is resigned and dubious in a way that says it’s a lost cause for now. “You can always come out to meet me. We always need more hands on our missions.”

“Not sure I can keep up with you, anymore,” Shiro says, chuckling sleepily. “I’m getting rusty.”

“All the more reason,” Keith teases. “Gotta whip you into shape.”

“Kick my ass, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Shiro huffs a laugh into the pillow. Keith falls silent, nothing but the soft sound of his breath crinkling out of the spotty connection. Shiro’s fingers itch for Keith, for the over-warmth of his skin pressed against Shiro’s, for the smell of his hair, the way he’d wind himself around Shiro like a touch-starved octopus. His chest aches.

“You know,” Shiro finds himself saying, before he’s even decided to do so, “the Garrison owes me a holiday.”

Keith’s breath catches. “Yeah?”

Shiro nods, though Keith can’t see him. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought, long nights spent alone, staring at his datapad willing it to ring, his eyes scanning Keith’s hastily penned missives over and over. He’d thought about just taking off, disappearing in one of the Garrison’s newly designed long-distance exploration crafts in the dead of night, just showing up where Keith is. What would they do? Fire him?

Now the words wind their way out of him, his longing given voice. “Yeah. I’d have to finish up these talks for sure but―can you send me some coordinates?”

“You’d really waste your vacation on mission with me?” Keith says, his voice already broken by the muffled tap of his fingers on a datapad, the responding beeps of the device.

Shiro’s datapad lights up with a new message, the coordinates listed simply under Keith’s name. “Baby, I’d cross the Universe for you.”

Keith snorts. “Wow. Lame.”

“It’s true!” Shiro protests, mock disgruntled. He doesn’t fake it well, his smile half buried in the pillow he still has clutched to his chest.

“I know,” Keith says, and his voice goes soft. “I love you.”

Shiro melts. “I love you too, baby.”

“You should sleep,” Keith says. “It’s gotta be―wow, close to midnight there right?”

Shiro looks at the time, groans. “Yeah. And I have to be up at 5 to head to a conference call in Puigian time.” He hesitates, then says. “Talk to me?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “That’s not sleeping. Didn’t you just say you have to get up in five hours?”

“I know,” Shiro says, just a touch petulant. “But I sleep better with you. And if I can’t actually have you―”

“Shiro,” Keith says, his voice impossibly soft, and Shiro can almost see the smile, the way his eyebrows turn up and his deep dark eyes go wide and liquid. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll talk. What do you want to talk about?”

Shiro smiles and punches the pillow into a more comfortable shape under his head. “Tell me about your day.”

Keith chuckles but he obliges, and Shiro can imagine what it would be like, spending every day together, coming home to nights like this, sharing tales of their days at the office over their pillows after taking each other apart. Their offices are spaceships and refugee camps and alien planets, but they have each other to come home to, wherever that home is, and that’s the part that really matters.

Keith finishes his story, his laughter falling away into a comfortable silence. Shiro is still, listening and straining for the sound of Keith’s breath, the shift of his clothes as he moves. He can almost imagine the way Keith is sitting, contorted in his chair in the deserted communications room of some random spaceport, staring at the steadily blinking light of the comms as though willing Shiro to appear before him.

Shiro misses him like a physical ache. He doesn’t want to be without Keith any longer. “I’ll talk to Holt tomorrow,” he says into the silence. “See about that vacation.”

“I’ll put you to work, you know,” Keith says teasingly, but Shiro hears the elation underneath it. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) if you'd like to come say hello <3


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